


Going Slow

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut, insecure reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 03:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20539295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: You and Bucky are taking it slow, but it's hard to feel important when he spends more time with someone else.





	Going Slow

**Author's Note:**

> Written from a prompt.

It’s happening. Again. Carol and Bucky, tucked away in a corner, their words too quiet for you to hear.

A hand snaps in your face, and you start, tearing your eyes away from your boyfriend.

“Hey, you in there?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, yeah, sorry,” you blurt. You shift your weight and hug your chest, cheeks warm under Sam’s scrutiny. “Sorry.”

But he doesn’t quite buy it. He studies you, and even without looking over his shoulder he seems to know exactly what caught your attention. “They’re just friends, y’know.”

You glance instinctively Bucky’s way. His head is tilted ever so slightly in your direction, though his eyes are still on Carol, chatting in her forthright way.

“I know,” you tell Sam. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, half tempted to tell Sam all your worries so you don’t have to tell Bucky himself. From this distance, you know he can hear.

But no. That’s not… it wouldn’t be fair. Bucky doesn’t need to deal with your insecurities, and Sam surely doesn’t either. You can deal with them yourself. Doing anything to tarnish Bucky and Carol’s friendship would be wrong. They have so much in common—the brainwashing, the capture, being used as a killing machine by their enemies…

How can you stand in the way of that connection?

You give Sam a tight smile and meander over to the bar, eyeing the range of liquors and booze on the table. The bartender is on-site staff, but you’ve yet to remember her name. You’re too new, with too many faces to memorize. Only Bucky’s is perfectly cemented in your brain.

You wish the rest of him was cemented there too, but you’re taking it slow. _ He’s _ taking it slow, and you wouldn’t dream of pushing him, however much you wish you could. But there’s a buzz in your body. Between the gloom of Bucky’s focus on Carol, what with their strong connection and shared history, and the sight of him in that fitted t-shirt of his tight across his chest, you’re too muddled to do anything but escape the party and fling yourself down on your bed.

A huff escapes your lips. You curl up on your side, eyes unfocused on the dimly lit wall.

The first party you’ve both been to since you started dating, and Bucky’s spent more time talking to Carol than to anyone else, including you. You can’t blame him, you _ can’t_. Carol is off-site—off-planet, more like—more often than not. How often does he get a chance to talk with her? With someone so like him?

But are you worth so little? Will you ever be privy to those quiet conversations, the ones he mentions here and there as _ soul-baring? _ Will you ever get to have them? Or will things with Bucky stay as they are: slow, gentle, surface-level, until it all fizzles out?

Your sleep is troubled, that night.

* * *

A knock on your door comes far too early for your liking. You groan into your pillow, kick off the sheets.

“Hey, it’s me,” Bucky calls softly. “Can I come in?”

You nod blearily, then remember he’s still outside. “Coming.” One big stretch, and then you pad over to the door.

Bucky’s inside before you even get a chance to look him over. You open your mouth, but then his hands are on your face and his lips are on your lips and you’re awash in his heady scent as you lean happily against him, all the concerns of last night just a niggling in the back of your brain. His lips are soft, warm, dry, perfect. You grip his waist, his muscles shifting under your touch as he pulls back, still holding your face. His blue eyes are soft, pupils just a little wider than usual.

“Hey,” he says.

You smile. “Good morning, you.”

“Can we talk?”

Your smile drops along with your stomach.

“Um, sure.” You step away from him, gesture towards the bed. “Wanna sit?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky grabs your hand and pulls you along with him. He’s dressed in low-slung sweats and a t-shirt like last night. It’s a _ look_. If his _ ‘can we talk’ _hadn’t short-circuited your brain into terror, you’d be drooling. As it is, your empty hand twitches, and you sit straight on it to hide your nerves. Bucky faces you, one leg propped up on the bedframe, your joined hands on his knee.

“I heard you and Sam last night,” he starts.

“I know,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” he says. He squeezes your hand, a little smile curving his lips. “I know that. But the point is—he’s right. We’re just friends. And before you say ‘I know’ again—” you shut your mouth with a sheepish forced smile— “I want you to really know it.” He scoots closer, captures your eyes with an intent gaze. “Carol is great, and we’ve got a lot of shared history, but she’s not _ you_.” He reaches out, tucks your hair behind your ear. Your breath catches as his fingers brush your cheek. “I know you want to take this slow, but god, you have no idea how much I—”

“Excuse you, _ you’re _ the one who wants to take this slow!” you blurt.

Bucky’s eyebrows fly up. “No…”

“Yes,” you insist. You think back, bite your lip, duck your head. “Or well, I thought so.”

Bucky slides his finger under your chin. Slowly, he tilts your face up to his. He’s close, so close, close enough so you can see the little lines on his skin, every individual eyelash.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he tells you. He scoots closer again, until your thigh is pressed against his. “I want this. I want _ you_.”

He cradles your face, those blue eyes of him so wide open that you can see straight down into his heart, his soul. Can he see yours? Can he see how every nerve is singing, how your body is hungry and suddenly all too aware of how little your flimsy nightgown hides?

You swallow, your eyes dropping for the barest moment to his lips.

“I want you more,” you whisper, and then there are no more words.

Bucky’s kiss is fire; his hands are fire; his skin is hot to the touch. In no time at all you’re lying beneath him, every scrap of clothing gone as you explore each other with hands, mouths, everything you possibly can to memorize a man too beautiful for words. He hisses when your line of kisses trails down, tracing his Adonis belt until you press a kiss to the tip of his cock, the sharp taste of him lingering on your lips as he nudges you until you’re lying side by side, facing each other, your head bobbing on his cock and his tongue and his fingers deep, circling, tearing gasps from your throat that he can feel.

Bucky growls as you moan around his cock, every little move of his prompting you on as yours do him. A cycle, but it’s anything but vicious. A spiraling tingle in your core, all thoughts but _ Bucky, Bucky, Bucky _ flying out of your head.

You pull back with a cry as Bucky’s fingers curl inside you, teasing a spot you can never reach yourself. He kisses the inside of your thigh as your hands curl around his cock, pumping and stroking as you gasp for breath amid his onslaught.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” you chant, mindless and yet all too mindful of how he’s touching you, licking you—and then he sinks his teeth just a hair’s width against your clit, and you’re gone.

Your muscles seize up as your vision whites out and your cunt spasms around his fingers. Your hands go lax, and as you fall down from your high Bucky shifts until he’s straddling you, his balls heavy against your still-throbbing cunt as he strokes himself, gazing down at you with something like wonder.

“God, you’re so sexy,” he breathes, his own breath as ragged as you feel. You roll your head to look at him, smiling groggily as he gently squeezes your sensitive breast. “How did I get so lucky?”

You reach up bonelessly and pull him down for a kiss, hissing as the motion leaves his cock running through your folds.

“Your own good taste,” you tell him, and Bucky laughs and laughs as he kisses you senseless all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think :3


End file.
